


File Unknown

by pally (palliris)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Feelings, Introspection, Other, Porn, and the feels along the way, basically just the inviting of doomfist to their threesome relationship, some violence, tm - Freeform, uhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-23 08:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12502848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palliris/pseuds/pally
Summary: Vignettes surrounding the event in which the Talon trio extends an invitation to Doomfist to enter their tumultuous relationship.(In no way are feelings involved.)





	1. FIᄂΣ ЦПKПӨЩП: ๏ɭเשเค ς๏ɭ๏๓คг

**Author's Note:**

> LOL WTF IS THIS, SORRY TO EVERYONE THAT IM CONSTANTLY IN RAREPAIR HELL, FUCK ::((((((
> 
> major thanks to hank for being a completely motivating source for my no good fanfiction, and being a visitor to my ot4 domain, in which the population is one, and its me. thats it. im the mayor.

Sombra watches.

There’s something about the way Doomfist edges around their little group that first catches her attention, but after that it’s the _looks._

She knows what want looks like. She sees it every time she peers in the mirror.

And _boy,_ does she see it in Doomfist’s eyes. They glow a molten caramel, like marbles that have been laid out in the sun the whole day and left to dry. Sombra wants to take a lick of it, just to see what it’d taste like.

She notices the way the fingers of his unmodified hand clench when she presses her side against Widow’s, long and flirtatious and a glint in her eyes as she goes. Widow puts up with it, as always, with a charming grace in her cocked hips and fluidity in the manicured hand on her hip. Sombra would press her luck with Reaper, but doesn’t think the withholding of promiscuous activities would be in her best interests.

Sombra enjoys seeing the tendons in Doomfist’s neck flex when he watches Reaper give a report during meetings, his hand tapping a rhythm against his pants.

She relishes in the way he does the same if she tilts her head a certain way, the long line of her neck briefly exposed from behind her jacket. Even adores the way he watches Widowmaker when she arches her back in her seat and crosses her arms under her breasts.

It’s all fairly intoxicating.

The fascination even carries onto the battlefield. Out there, Doomfist’s visceral emotions come out, and his stares are even more obvious. When Sombra laughs and licks a bit of blood from the corner of her mouth, the man pulls visibly taut. His arms go firm and hard and he smothers the screaming man beneath him with his foot.

A warm, hot rush pulses through her in that moment, and the feeling carries on throughout the day and into the night. She lets it take over her body as she presses her cunt into Reaper’s face, grinding down on his tongue and envisioning the face of another one of Talon’s council members.

She glances back and watches Widowmaker take in Reaper’s cock. His legs are hitched up around her hips, though, so it’s more that she’s fucking him, which is fucking hot. She wonders, vaguely, about how Doomfist would work in their bedroom dynamic, and thinks that it would probably be relatively similar.

Swiveling her hips once more, Sombra feels her insides coil tightly as she releases all of the tension inside of her body and cums with a low groan. Reaper licks her through the aftershocks, and she catches her breath for a few moments.

Pitching off to the right, the hacker lets her body relax as the other two continue to go at it. Their own interaction lasts for another half hour, and Widow quickly comes down from her high. Reaper stays laid out next to her, panting and beautifully worn out, and Sombra caresses the thick curve of his muscles with her index finger.

Widow moves off quickly, always the cleanfreak of the bunch. She sweeps her hair back into a ponytail while she towels off, both Reaper and Sombra watching as the planes of her body move and shimmer as they catch the light and move with her actions.

She must notice, because Widow gives a sly smile off the side of her face and brushes behind her neck before moving to the adjoined bathroom.

There’s not really any need for her to get dressed or even clean up, but she knows Widowmaker will probably bitch later about the smell of sex, so. She ends up with her back pressed against Widow’s front in the tight and cramped shower. Reaper joins in on them a few minutes later to catch the tail end of the hot water, all of them crammed in tight like fish in a tin.

The water pours over her face, and she feels at peace.

(She still can’t quite quell the thought of all four of them in here, no room to even move. It seems altogether too intimate and not intimate enough at the same time, and makes Olivia marvel at the wonders of love. There’s a fire in her gut and a beating in her heart, and she just hopes that the other three feel the same.)

(Sombra knows they do.)


	2. FIᄂΣ ЦПKПӨЩП: αмéℓιє ℓα¢яσιx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is exactly one word less than the first chapter, poetic bullshit and all that garb aside (edit: i edited it and now its not and im, like, death)
> 
> AkA: pallys "whoops" continues

_I have an idea_ is the poster child for bad intentions. Widowmaker knows something suspicious is going on the second the words leave Sombra’s mouth, lips wrapped around a to-go cup straw. She’s been bobbing up and down on it subtly for a good fifteen minutes, and her eyes have been gazing lazily into the fading sunlight for longer.

Widowmaker thinks that if the situation were less dire she wouldn’t care as much, but as it stands, they are in the middle of a mission of legitimate importance. The rooftop Widow’s perched on is laden with scraps of metal, bits and pieces scattered about that she had been required to move.

Sombra is swathed in multiple blankets at the moment. Noisily sipping her hot cocoa from where it’s been forced into a juice box, Widow is tempted to tell her just how acutely annoying she is. She sends the hacker a look instead, and knows she’s gotten her point across decently enough.

Snickering, Sombra just flicks her finger towards the sky from underneath the pile of blankets, and Widowmaker looks through her scope as the barrier around her target goes down. It happens immediately, but Widow has enough confidence in her own skills to get a bullet in the span of time that it’ll be down.

She lines up the shot. The wind is coming in at a slight angle and the snow pushes at the edges of her visor, but her hand is steady. Completely still, even.

Widow shoots.

There’s a slight sound, low and pleasurable to Widow’s ears, and the little russian princess goes down in a silent fit of blood.

“Okay but, like, _really,”_ Sombra blathers on, tickling the straw with her tongue. “I have an _idea._ That, like, I just know Reaper’s going to object to.”

“Then why talk to me about it?” Widow asks patiently, watching the scene unfold. Guards rush to the fallen girl, searching around the area with wide, frantic mouths. The sight makes her preen inside.

Sombra hums, before saying, “You’re the more reasonable one when it comes to things like this.”

“Things like this?” Widow says, gazing around the action.

“Not like _this;_ more along the lines of a personal thing. A thing that pertains to the person. Per. Son. _Al.”_ Sombra pops her words with her lips, but something in the woman’s voice makes her glance over.

Her lips are pursed, and from what she can tell under the mismatched fabrics, Sombra’s shoulders are hunched. Widow wants to prod her about the topic.

Instead, she’s silent.

Even more surprisingly, Sombra stays quiet as well. Stays quiet all throughout the process of packing up their stuff, through the process of moving from rooftop to rooftop, through the wait at where the drop and retrieval point is. Widow doesn’t like it when she’s quiet.

When she speaks again, it’s all hushed tones and whispered murmurs. Sombra raises her head to the sky and lets the wind brush her hair against her cheek. She licks her lips once, twice. Widowmaker counts the heartbeats in between each breath, which puff out against the cold air and make tiny clouds in the dark.

“Would it be a bad thing to want more?” Sombra asks, practically a ghost of a voice. Her words are carried along by the stormy winds. “Because there’s something I think we all need, even if we don’t know it yet.”

Widowmaker’s about to ask what she means, but then Sombra turns towards her. She gets a full view of the woman’s face, bathed in the lamplight and radiant. There’s a softness in her eyes that feels out of place in the current moment, but it makes sense in Widow’s mind.

“It’s fine,” Widowmaker concedes, and briefly lets her thoughts wander away from her. There’s a dark, predatory flash- a real gaunt image, illustrious and shining in the moonlight- and she supposes it was only natural for her to ignore it until now. “I know.”

There’s a moment of uncertainty, before the storms in her mind clear for but a brief second.

(Because Amélie had lived a simple life, filled with simple feelings and simple thoughts.)

(Widowmaker feels the cold, but she also feels the warmth. There’s a vastness of her mind that she sometimes fears will swallow her whole, but all it’s done is provide her with a limitless abundance of knowledge and  _choice_ she will never stop being privately thankful for.)


	3. FIᄂΣ ЦПKПӨЩП: G̶̨̨̛̳͓̦͈͙͇̤̲̗̖͓̅̾́̈̋̉̓̒̎̏́̕̕ẳ̵̟͇̭̖̞̞͙̪̟̰͛́͠͠b̸̡͙̤͙̯͙̪̬̕͜r̵̦̦̖͓̰̮̱̼̠͓̹̔̈́̐͋̐̒͊̽͐̈͛ḯ̷̩͍͓͇̒̿͝e̴͉̖͎̩͍̪͎̻͉͉̊̎̐̅̄l̵̦̟̱̳͛͗̋͑̐̈́̋̂̌̇̊̾̾̆ ̴̛̱̯̼̗̘͎̗͎͂̄̄̏̾̉̓͒͝R̴̮͎̯̠͉͓̹̩̰̿̽̈́̋͜ę̴̦̯͉̳̣̗̠͕̤̰̅̿͒̇̃̀̽̃̅͋̕͜ͅÿ̴̞̼̼̬̞̮́ḛ̷͈̃s̵̫̣̓́͗̀̈̍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rreaper reaper reaper... tsk tsk tsk...

Reaper doesn’t  _ shuffle.  _ This would imply that he’s nervous, and he isn’t. He’s merely, well- 

Restless.

Which isn’t exactly better, but he’s within the comfort of his own mind and anything is more substantial than thinking aimlessly. If anyone asked, though, he would go with the excuse of brooding. Or being dead. Either one. 

Reaper taps his clawed finger on the wall behind him, making out a rhythm he doesn’t quite remember. It’s somewhat soothing, but an aid to the boredom that comes with a wait. 

And Reaper has been waiting. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting, despite the fact that it’s only been ten minutes since he took up his self-imposed post. He wants to leave, but surely if he’s already wasted so much of his precious time he might as well go through with this. 

(It doesn’t help that he drew the short stick of the bunch, and even then he’s fairly certain the other women had rigged it anyways.)

Feeling a bit of smoke rise to the surface as he continues staring at the inconspicuous, dark grey door, Reaper sighs quietly. There’s a lull in his schedule right now that he had really wanted to take advantage of in terms of sleep- most likely plastered between two bodies, one too hot and one too cold, but both equally as enjoyed- but he’s never been one to back away from a challenge. 

It feels like he stands there for at least an hour, so when the door opens Reaper makes a show of checking his watch. The meeting had ran over by twenty-three minutes. And while that isn’t necessarily uncommon for Reaper, he’s used to the casual and easy half hour briefing sessions he experiences with his own team. 

Doomfist walks out after his subordinates, all of them varying in terms of power and usefulness, leading the back like they’re his rabble of miscreant children. The thought of it all makes Reaper immensely glad for his mask, because he has to bite his laugh on his lip. 

He almost sort of believes that Doomfist can tell, though, because he raises his eyebrow at him. Or it might just be because he’s never waited for the him outside of a room, like this. It’s vaguely creepy in hindsight. 

Dismissing the rest of his group members, Doomfist turns to look at Reaper. The hallway itself is a good few meters across, so the two aren’t cramped for space- even  _ with _ Doomfist’s, well, fist- but Reaper still thinks this is closer to the other man than he’s ever been. Not even on the few missions they’ve had together, really. 

Before he can lose his shallow courage, Reaper reaches into the inside breast pocket on his jacket. Clutching the object before drawing it out, he circles it with his thumb and thrusts it towards Doomfist. It tumbles out of his hand and Doomfist catches it, adept and all too graceful with his fleshy fingers. Turning it over and examining it, he scrutinizes it with his eyes for but a moment before giving the barest of nods. Reaper replies with nothing.

There’s a line of tension that Reaper wants to grab and take hold of, but he’ll make do with consuming the man with his sight alone. 

Turning to go, Reaper’s about to turn off the hallway before Doomfist’s voice follows him, warm and sure. 

“I will be prompt.”

And Reaper hopes he will;  _ knows _ he will. 

Because where would his family be if they weren’t cautious of who they adopted? Sombra had fashioned together a puzzle of sorts; one that looked like a mirror and required certain actions to reflect the true message inside. Reaper had peered over her shoulder the whole time, continually evaluating the process and thinking that this would be enough. 

Widowmaker had been laid off to the side, just back from a solo-mission and soaking in the smell of fresh sheets and sound of mellow conversation. She had stripped of all of her clothes, lazy eyes watching the two of them pander over the hacker’s mystery item.

The thought of coming back to the two of them fills him with a sense of peace, but the whisper of an idea that includes Doomfist in that image seems less like a delusion and more like a reality. 

When he gets back to his room, expanded and obtusely grander than the smaller units of lesser members within Talon, the first thing he gets when he opens the door is an armful of languid flesh. Sombra melts into his arms like taffy. 

“Finished?” Widow asks from the bed, slowly flicking through a novel. Her sleeveless turtleneck clings to her body perfectly, and Reaper is immensely glad that this is a sight he might be able to share, soon.

“It’ll take him a good few days to figure out the puzzle,” Sombra interjects, threading Reaper’s fingers with her own. He smiles despite himself. Popping his mask off of it’s hinges, Reaper throws it off to the side. 

This time, he grins for real. 

(Gabriel was happy, but so is Reaper. He wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.)


End file.
